Carrie: The Devil Within
by carrie-whites
Summary: Carrie survives the collapse of her house. Cold and afraid, she seeks help from Miss. Desjardin, who is reluctant to take in the telekinetic teen after seeing her unleash her wrath first hand. But Carrie hits home at a personal level and she can't say no. With a hunt on for Carrie, both women find it hard to keep her a secret and Carrie is finding it hard to control her powers.
1. Dazed & Afraid

When I open my eyes, I squint against the glow of an orange light. I can feel Momma laying on my legs as I'm flat on my back. My legs hurt and my head hurt and I'm pinned to the floor. I stare up at the light. Is it heaven? Is it God ready to come and take me and Momma?

___Momma_ . . . she's ___dead_.

___I'm_ dead . . . aren't I?

I know I'm not dead when I move my legs and I'm relieved that I'm not trapped. I remember the house collapsing around me. The stones falling from the sky and destroying the house, just like when I was a little girl. Except this time they started and they wouldn't stop. And Sue. Pregnant Sue. I got her house so she wouldn't get crushed. And . . .

Prom. And Billy and Chris.

But I can't think of those things right now. I have to get out. I have to get Momma and I out. I sit up, hitting my head against something as hard as concrete, my head throbs. I look up, but I can't tell what it is in the dark. Momma has pinned me down at my mid section. She's lying there. Her eyes are closed. I put a hand gently on her head and I remember the knives and what ___I_ did. ___I killed her._

"M-Momma . . ." I sob, tears streaming down my face. I feel something hot running down my forehead. I bring my hand up to my head and then to my face. Blood.

___Blood_.

___What they did to me_ . . . ___they _tricked___me._

I slide Momma off my legs and crawl forward. I'm barricaded on each side by walls and other pieces of the house. I'm able to stand a little, my legs shaking and I feel towards the orange light. Maybe if I get to it, I will go to Heaven. Maybe Momma's already there. I feel a flurry of hope as I put my foot on something and climb through.

My fingers hurt as I feel my way through, clutching onto wood and cement as I go. A stone falls by me, hitting the ground below my feet where Momma is. I want to take her with me, but she's already gone. My feet find ledges and I push myself up, bathing myself in the orange light more. I feel a breeze, cold, but welcoming. I'm hot and sore and tired. A sudden pain shoots through my back and I remember Momma stabbing me in the back.

___Why, Momma?_

I pull myself out of the ruins of the house, but I don't enter heaven. I'm in Carlin Street, Chamberlain. I'm home. In the distance I hear sirens. The orange glow was from the street light at the side of the road. I smell smoke. I have to get out of here before someone comes.

I managed to climb out of the house and carefully make my way barefoot across the ruins of the house. ___My _house.

___How did this happen? Why did this have to happen to me?_

I step on something sharp and I grimace. The street light flickers and goes out and I know that it was me that did that. With my power. That power that fascinates and terrifies me at the same time. It terrifies me mostly, now. Because of what I did. All those people I hurt . . . killed.

___But they laughed at me. It was a trick!_

I walk around stones and debris and make my way across the soft green grass on the front lawn. I continue on to the middle of the road. My feet are cold. I'm in pain. I need help. I look left and then right, spotting a girl, walking slowly in the opposite direction. She has long blonde hair.___Sue_. I want to shout on her and ask for help, but I can't speak. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I want to use my telekinesis to spin her around and bring her back. I can't bring myself to do it. I hear approaching sirens and see flashing red and blue lights, heading towards Sue. I have to get away before they see me. They will put me in jail if they do. Or maybe worse. They must know what I'm capable of.

I have to think fast and decide that I'll head in the different direction. I turn, running around the ruins of my house and climb the fence into the neighbors' house. I'll cross yards and take back roads. No one can see me. I'm cold, but I have to keep moving. I have to find someone who will help me. I want Sue to help me because I think she will. I saw into her head and found that she didn't have anything to do with what happened at Prom. Neither did Tommy.

___Tommy_ . . .

The continuous sound of sirens terrifies me as I make my way across town, keeping low and in the shadows. I follow through with my plan, taking back roads, hidden paths and back yards. I see smoke billowing into the air from town. From the school. I need to find someone. Someone ___has_ to help me.

___Miss. Desjardin_.

She'll help me. She likes me. Even though she saw what I did, I saved her from getting killed. And she didn't laugh at me with the rest of the school. She helped me before and I'm sure she'll help me again.

I head for her house.


	2. Seeking Help

My nightgown snags on a branch as I walk through the trees behind Miss. Desjardin's house. I know this is her house because I saw her leaving it one morning when Momma and I were driving into town. It's small with two storeys, kinda like what my house looked like. The back yard is neat and tidy and there are flower beds surrounding almost the entire house.

I haven't stop crying since I left Momma in the ruins of our house. The police are probably searching it right now. Looking for survivors, but of course, they will find none. My feet are bloody and my whole entire body is sore. I collapsed twice on the way here, feeling tired, not wanting to go on.

_I should have just died . . . why didn't I die?_

_ BUT I NEED HELP!_

I feel nervous about confronting Miss. Desjardin. What if she screams? What if she runs out of the house? I couldn't stop her with my telekinesis because that would scare her even more. I'd have to explain myself quick and hope that she'll help.

_Please, help._

The house is completely dark and I know that she's not home. I climb the back porch and try the door, hoping that she would have accidentally kept it unlocked, but it doesn't budge. I sigh and I feel my legs go weak beneath me. I fall onto the wooden floor of the porch and burst into tears. Every horrible thing that has happened in one night – a night that was supposed to be special and beautiful – coming back and hitting me like a ton of bricks.

I try to quiet my sobs a little, afraid that one of Miss. Desjardin's neighbors will be hear me and I curl up against the door, hugging my knees. I notice a vertical cut on the back of my right leg, where Momma got me with the knife.

_She tried to kill me._

_Then she deserved to die._

_ No, she didn't! She was my MOMMA!_

I still hear sirens far off in the distance and I'm afraid that they'll never end. But somehow, the sound manages to lull me to sleep.

The sun is shining on my face when I wake up. I rub my eyes, forgetting for a moment the events of the night before, but they come back to me in a millisecond. I feel like crying again, but the tears don't come. A heavy lump sits in my throat. I'm still sore and cold and I need something to warm me up. And then I remember where I am.

_She must be home by now!_

As I stand, I hear a sound that I don't recognize at first. Nearby and then distant. A helicopter. I try the back door and it's still locked. I move to the side, cupping my hands around my face as I squint through a window. The kitchen is neat just like the garden and I don't see a soul. And then, I do. A woman – Miss. Desjardin, although it doesn't look like Miss. Desjardin – sits on a couch that I can see through the kitchen. She has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her face is distant, as if she's deep in thought, her red hair is a mess, mascara runs down her cheeks. She still wears her beautiful dress from the night before.

I step back. I don't want to go in. I made her like that. She saw the things I did. She'll never want to help me.

_You killed people! You killed her colleagues and her students! She hates you! She hates you! She wants you _dead_._

But I have nowhere else to go.

I take a deep breath and move back to the door. With shaky hands, I knock on the door three times and wait, shifting anxiously on my sore feet. My stomach twist and my heart thuds so hard I feel as though it will explode inside of my chest. I hear footsteps approach the door and then she opens it.


	3. Desjardin

Miss. Desjardin's eyes widen and her mouth drops open a few inches and I can see tears lining the bottom of her eyes. She stares at me and I stare at her back, not sure of what to say. I hug myself, pleading with my eyes.

"I-I . . ." I start to speak, but I find no words.

"C-Carrie?" her voice is shaky. "Wh-what -"

"I need help, Miss. Desjardin. I need help. _Please_." I don't know how I manage to get my words out.

She looks down at my stained nightgown and my bloody feet. I expect her to throw the door shut and go inside and call the police, but she ushers me forward with a move of her hands, looking around outside, as if someone could be watching.

I obediently walk in, tears running down my cheeks, my shoulders shaking. "I am so sorry for what I did, Miss. Desjardin. I was just -"

"Come through to the living room." she cuts me off, leading me through her nice home. She takes a seat on the couch and pats the spot beside her. I sit down, staring at the room around me. It's so bright. There's a large flatscreen TV. Momma and I didn't have a TV and our house wasn't half as nice as this.

"Where's your mother?" Miss. Desjardin looks deep into my eyes and I'm baffled at how well she's holding herself.

I shake my head, my lip quivering, "I – she – she tried to kill me."

Miss. Desjardin's eyes do wide once again, "She _what_?"

"It's because of what I did. And what I am. Are you going to call the police on me?"

I look at her helplessly. She puts her head in her hands, taking a deep breath. She runs her hands through her hair and then looks at me again. I see sympathy. I want to feel safe with her.

"No, sweetie, I'm not." she finally replies.

"But you saw what I did." I say shamefully.

"I know, I know. It will take me a while to get over . . . what I saw, but Carrie, what they did to you . . . it was unforgivable."

"You don't hate me?"

"You scared the shit out of me, Carrie." the tears in Miss. Desjardin's eyes fall. "But I . . . God, I don't know. I don't know . . ."

She puts her head in her hands again.

"I'm sorry." I say honestly. "I didn't mean . . . I just got so mad, Miss. Desjardin. They were laughing at me, like in the showers, like _always_. And then Tommy got hurt and they played the video and I just couldn't take it."

Miss. Desjardin takes her hands away from her face and looks at me. I lower my head, tears falling onto my lap. When I look back up, she cranes her neck, looking concerned.

"Carrie, turn around a second." she says.

I do and she gasps when she sees my back. "Oh my God. Did your mom do that to you?"

"Yeah." I nod my head. "She was trying to kill me."

"What happened to her. Did you . . ."

I nod.

"Okay, okay. Let's put you in a bath upstairs and then we can work things out, okay? I just need some thinking time."

We stand, and she puts her hands on my shoulders, leading me out of the living room and upstairs. The rest of her house is just as nice as the downstairs. She opens a door and flips a switch, lighting up her bathroom. Almost everything is white and squeaky clean.

"Take off your nightgown and I'll give you something to wear, okay? Just throw it out into the hallway once you have it off." she says.

I nod again and turn as she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I pull my nightgown off, wincing at the pain in my shoulder and my arm. I'm still crying. I open the door and do as Miss. Desjardin says to do. I've never thrown clothes on the floor like this. If I did at home, Momma would have sent me to the closet.

_Momma._

I start to the fill the bath and take a towel from a rack. I lay it over the closed toilet seat and sit down. I lean my arms on my naked legs and drop my head into my hands, the tears continuing to fall. I don't know if they'll ever be able to stop.

As I sit there, the events of last night replay through my head like a horrible movie. The blood being dumped on me, Tommy getting hit in the head, me killing all those people at Prom, Chris and Billy, and at home with Momma. It's a night I'll never forget. A night that will haunt me forever. I'll have nightmares that I'll wake up screaming from.

Once the bath is full, I lower myself into it and I'm instantly reminded of cleaning the blood off myself at home. I wonder where they got the blood from. Did they kill someone to get it? If they were willing to kill me, it could have been a possibility. Suddenly, as I continue to cry, the water around me begins to ripple and little beads lift from the bath, looking like crystals rising into the air. I take deep breaths, trying to calm down. I can't use my powers when I'm with Miss. Desjardin. I don't want to scare her. The droplets of water fall back into the bath, which is slowly turning a faint red from my blood. My back aches. Down at the bottom, there's dirt floating around my feet.

I submerge my head underwater, running my hands through my hair and then I sit up. I rub the water from my eyes and soak as my wounds clean themselves out. I'm too afraid to touch them.

A knock comes at the door and I jump. The water ripples again, but this time from me startled.

"Are you okay, Carrie?" Miss. Desjardin's voice asks from the other side of the door.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." I reply.

I hear her walk away and then I pull the plug, standing as the water disappears down the drain. I grab the towel from the nearby toilet and step out of the bath. I open the door, peeking out, afraid that there will be policemen standing there, ready to haul me away. But there's no one. I look down at the floor. My nightgown is gone.

I go downstairs to find Miss. Desjardin.


	4. Safe

I'm shivering as I sit on a stool in Miss. Desjardin's kitchen. She sits behind me on another stool, a First Aid kit resting on the counter beside her. She inspects the wound on my back, her fingers softly touching the skin around it. It throbs.

"Well, it looks as though the bath cleaned it out a little, but I'll need to disinfect it just to be safe, okay?" she says from behind me. I can feel her breath on my neck and I nod.

I hear her moving and unscrewing a cap off a bottle. There's a moment of silence until she touches what feels like a damp piece of cotton against my wound. I wince as a burning sensation over-takes the throbbing. I grip the side of the counter, squeezing my eyes shut. I cry out.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I should have told you that it would sting." Miss. Desjardin says.

I look ahead at a microwave in front of me. The numbers above the little control pad flicker and I take a deep breath.

_Not here. Not now._

The flickering stops, as does the burning and I relax my shoulders a little.

"Should we just patch it up? It seems very clean, anyway. I don't think it will need stitches, unless you wanna go to the hospital?"

I spin around on the stool, shaking my head. "No, no. I can't go to the hospital. The police will be looking for me soon and they'll take me away."

"Okay, okay. Not hospitals." she says calmly. I realize that she is still wearing her Prom dress. She looked so pretty and then I ruined it. She patches up the wound. "Let me get the rest of you looked at."

She starts with the slash on my arm and she begins to clean it up. The same burning returns and I bite my lower lip and grip the counter once again. The numbers on the microwave don't flicker this time.

"Carrie, I think we have to talk about what happened last night." she glances at me as she starts to wrap gauze around my arm.

I nod in reply, moving my hand from the counter, clutching the top of my towel because I'm afraid it's going to fall down.

"How – how did you do what . . . you did?" she doesn't look at me as she says this.

I open my mouth, trying to think of the right words. Nothing comes until I rehearse it in my head. Will she believe me? "I – I have telekinesis."

"Tele – what's that?"

"I can move things with my mind."

Miss. Desjardin nods her head lightly as she fixes the gauze with a safety pin. She then hops off the stool and motions to it for me to prop my leg up on it and I do so. She kneels down and gets to the work on the back of my leg.

I feel more tears coming and I let them fall. There's no point in trying to stop them or wiping them away.

"I'm a monster." I sob, my shoulders heaving. I feel as though I'm going to be sick. The burning comes from my leg this time, but I don't pay much attention to it.

"No, you're not, Carrie." Miss. Desjardin says matter-of-factly.

"But you saw, Miss. Desjardin. I killed those people. I killed my Momma."

She wraps my leg in the white gauze, attaches a safety pin and then starts putting the stuff back into the first aid box. Her silence worries me and I'm afraid of what she's going to say.

"Let's get you dressed and we can talk about this more." she takes my hand and I follow her upstairs and into her bedroom.

Her large bed is made with not a single crease and it smells like air freshener. She sits me down on it and walks over to her chest-of-drawers. She digs inside, pulling out a pair of gray sweatpants and sits them down beside me. I used to wear a similar pair during gym. Momma never let me wear shorts because she thought they were immodest. She then brings me over a white tank top and a red flannel shirt, things Momma would never let me wear.

"I hope these are okay for you. I'll let you change. I'll be down in the living room. Do you want anything?"

I shake my head, "No, thank you."

She leaves and I start to get dressed.

I button the flannel shirt all the way to the top because Momma would think of it as "slutty" if I walked around showing my chest for all to see. As I walk into the living room, I tuck my hair behind my ears and sit down next to Miss. Desjardin, who has a mug of tea in her hands.

"Do you want to talk about this? It's okay if you think you're not ready yet." she says, taking a sip of her tea before sitting it down on the coffee table.

"No . . . no, I want to." I reply.

We sit in silence. Neither of us knows where to begin until I start crying again. She scoots over, putting an arm delicately around my shoulders and she pulls me close. I lean into her, ignore the ache in my shoulder.

"I deserve to go to hell, Miss. Desjardin. You saw what I did. I didn't mean for it to go so far, but it did." my mouth feels dry.

"But I'm sure you didn't mean to . . . kill them."

"I did. I wanted them dead for what they did to me, but I didn't – I didn't . . ."

I don't know what to say. My feelings are conflicted. They deserved to be punished, but did they really deserve to die? Especially in such horrible ways. I can still smell Tina burning . . .

_She deserved it! Just like the rest of them and you know it!_

_Not like that. Not in that way. I should have never . . ._

"Carrie?" Miss. Desjardin's voice snaps me out of a trance.

"They deserved to be punished, Miss. Desjardin, but I shouldn't have killed them. They just – they made fun of me for so long and when they did that . . ."

I can't go on. My mouth is too dry and I'm crying too much to gather my thoughts clearly.

"I know, Carrie. Let's just talk about what happened _after_ Prom." she takes my hands in hers.

I tell her about everything, how I went after Billy and Chris and killed them. Then how I went home, took a bath and how Momma tried to stab me to death, but I stopped her by stabbing _her_ to death. Then when Sue came into the house and it started to collapse after being hit by the stones that fell from the sky. By the time I'm finished, Miss. Desjardin's face is pale, as though she can't believe what she's heard. I wouldn't if I was her.

"So – uh, so Sue was there? Do you think she knows you survived?" she finally asks after a few moments of silence.

"I don't think she knows I'm alive."

"Do you think she was in on it will Billy and Chris?"

"No. I could read her mind. She didn't have anything to do with it. She wanted to help me, but I wanted to die with Momma."

_You should be dead, you Devil's Whore!_

The sound of Momma's voice screams in my head and even though I know it's not real, I grimace at it.

"Are you okay?" Miss. Desjardin asks, looking at me worriedly.

"Uh . . . I think I need to lie down."

"You can use my guest room upstairs. That's where you'll be staying."

"You're – you're gonna let me stay?"

Miss. Desjardin nods and a feel a weight being lifted from my shoulders and I finally feel one hundred percent safe with her.

"I want to help you, Carrie. But let's get you to bed."

She stands and we head upstairs. She leads me to a room at the end of the hall and I step in. The bed is a double, which is bigger than my single at home. It looks comfy and the room is warm and welcoming.

I walk over to the bed and pull back the covers. I lay down and roll over on my side instantly as a warm pain spreads through my back, reminding me of the stab wound. I reach over to pull the covers up around me, but Miss. Desjardin does it for me, just like Momma did.

_I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you, little girl._

Momma's voice comes back to me, except this time it's calm and loving.

"Try and get some sleep, Carrie. If I'm asleep when you get up, help yourself to anything in the fridge and watch some TV if you want. But if you need to talk to me about something, don't hesitate to wake me up. Okay?" she heads for the door and I watch her leave, nodding at her.

"Oh, and don't answer the door to anyone." she closes the door.

I cry myself to sleep.


	5. Red Rita

I awake in a cold sweat.

My heart thumps in my chest and I take a deep breath. My hair clings to my forehead and the sheets beneath me are damp with my sweat. I had a nightmare. Miss. Desjardin was dressed in Momma's nightgown and she was trying to stab me, except this time I couldn't stop her because my telekinesis didn't exist. Just as she plunged the blade into my chest, I shot up out of my sleep.

The sky outside is orange and I glance at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table. It's 06:52. I've been sleeping for at least nineteen hours.

I unbutton my flannel shirt and take it off, throwing it down beside me. I stand up when I spot a pile of clothes on top of the dresser at the other side of the room. I take them in my arms, laying them out on the bed. There's a blue shirt with the word HOLLISTER on it in white. I've seen people wearing these shirts, but I don't know what "Hollister" means. I take off my clothes and change into the new ones, including a pair of underwear and another pair of sweats that stop at the shin. I think they're called capri pants.

As I go downstairs, I can smell coffee and hear movement in the kitchen. When I enter, I find Miss. Desjardin pouring herself a fresh mug of coffee. She's finally out of her Prom dress and her hair is tied up like it is when she's taking gym. She wears a white tank top and a pair of jeans. She turns to me when the floor creaks beneath my feet.

"Oh, good morning. How did you sleep?" she smiles. It's the first time I've seen her smile since she applauded me while I was onstage at Prom.

"Okay, I guess. But I had a nightmare." I reply, sitting down on a stool.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No." I shake my head.

"Do you want something to eat?"

My stomach churns at the idea of eating, but I'm not sure if it's from hunger or because I feel sick. The images of Prom Night and everyone dying doesn't exactly help my appetite.

"Uh . . . could I have some toast?" I ask.

"Sure." she smiles again and puts down her coffee. She moves to one of the cabinets and pulls out a loaf of bread. She puts two slices of it in the toaster.

"Why – why are you letting me stay here?" I say. It's been a question that's been running through my mind for a while now.

Miss. Desjardin sits down on the stool beside me with her coffee.

"That day that those girls did what they did in the showers . . . I got _so_ mad. I went home and cried that night. And then when I met you after . . . after you told me Tommy asked you to Prom, I got really protective over you. I confronted him and Sue about it. God, I shouldn't have let you go." she rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes.

"Anyway, you and I are a lot alike, Carrie." she continues. I look at her curiously. "When I was your age, I was picked on horribly. I had glasses, braces for two and a half years, zits all over my face . . . they called me "Red Rita" until I graduated. Even my friends. I used to smile and pretend that it didn't hurt me, but it did. A lot."

I couldn't imagine Miss. Desjardin being bullied.

"You hit home at a really personal level. I guess that's why I want to help you."

"But you saw what I -"

Miss. Desjardin raises a hand, shaking her head, "Let's not think about that right now. We can talk about that later. Okay?"

"Okay."

She stands up and kisses me on the forehead, before crossing the kitchen to the toaster. I feel a warmth inside me, like when Momma used to kiss me on the head before when she put me to bed.

"Thank you, Miss. Desjardin." I say.

"Rita." she smiles. "Call me Rita."


	6. Black Prom

After a shower, I go downstairs and find a note from Miss. Desjardin – I mean, _Rita_ – in the living room. It reads:

_Had to go to the police department for some questioning. I'll be back soon. Help yourself to anything._

_- Rita. x_

I fold the note up and sit it back down on the coffee table in the middle of the room. I sit down on the couch, sighing, looking around the quiet space.

My eyes go to the TV and I can see my blurry reflection in the large, black screen. I don't know how to work one, but I pick up the remote in front of me anyway.

I look at all the different buttons and a red one on the top left corner catches me eye. Below it it says: ON/OFF. I press down on it while I point it towards the TV.

There's a quiet humming from the screen and then it goes blue, before cutting to a commercial for cars. I press a button with an arrow that points up the way and the channel changes to a news report.

A woman stands in front of Ewen High and my stomach leaps into my throat. My heart stops.

The front of the school is still decorated with Prom décor. Yellow tape cordons off the front lawn. Police move around in the background.

"It's been two days now since what people are calling 'Black Prom'." she speaks into her microphone. "Investigators were baffled as to why the incident occurred. Many initially believed a gas tank exploded underneath the gymnasium, but multiple eyewitnesses who managed to escape the fire stated that one of their peers was the one to have caused the disaster. They said she 'moved things' and 'killed students with her own mind'. 'Telekinesis' was the word on everyone's mouths."

My whole body begins to shake. I'm going to cry. I want to turn the TV off, but I can't bring myself to move.

"This morning, we learned that the police recovered a camera from inside the charred remains of the gymnasium where the Prom was taking place on June 22nd." she continues.

It cuts to an overhead view of the school burning during the day. Firefighters are spraying it down with their hoses, but the blaze doesn't weaken.

_Look what you did!_

"We have been given _exclusive_ footage from inside the Prom. The video that follows may be disturbing to most viewers and should be viewed with caution."

I want to turn it off and never think about it again. But I can't.

It shows the blood being dumped on me and a sob bursts out of me. Tommy and I's smiling faces turn from shock and into horror at what just happened to us. To _me_.

"It was a prank gone wrong." the dramatic voice-over starts. "Blood is dumped onto seventeen-year-old Carrie White. A so-called 'loner' who was quoted as 'quiet and shy'. Laughter surges throughout the audience of surprised Prom-goers, until . . ." it shows me knocking Miss. Des – _Rita_ – to the floor, followed by a series of gasps and murmurs. And then the bucket hitting Tommy on the head. He goes down like a ton of bricks.

I watch it through watery eyes. My stomach churns and twists, threatening to bring up the toast I had this morning.

"Her date, Tommy Ross, is suspected to be in on the prank. He was found amongst those dead. The bucket is said to have killed him instantly, but autopsy reports have yet to confirm anything."

_No no NO!_

"What happens next is truly baffling."

I turn around, rage on my face. I bring my arms up at each side of me and I can remember everything as clear as crystal. The blood on my arms starts to rise and drift into the air. A girl says "Are you seeing this?" from nearby the camera man. My breathing becomes heavy and then I scream: "_NOOOOOOOOOO!_"

Suddenly there are screams and the camera man is thrown back, through the air. Everything is a blur and there are screams and bangs and pops.

"According to the survivors, everyone and everything was tossed through the air. Carrie then locked them in the gymnasium with just a movement of her arms. She proceeded to pick off her tormentors."

It cuts to the camera man standing up from behind something, pointing the camera at me. I lift my arms and throw a table at him. It hits him and the camera cuts to black.

I stand up, run into the kitchen and vomit into the sink. My legs feel shaky and I fall to the floor, collapsing into a heap of sobs, wiping at my mouth.

The floor feels cold underneath me.

I stare at the ceiling.

There's a dull ache in my shoulder.

_You should be dead!_

_Yes . . . yes._


	7. Monster

As I lay on the floor, the tears run down the side of my face and I raise my hands.

A wooden knife block falls over on the counter next to me, spilling the many knives out. The pointed edges race towards my chest in a flash of silver.

_FLEX_

The blades stop just inches above me.

I think back to Momma, hovering over me, knife pointed down at my chest. The wild crazy look in her eyes. She wanted to kill me. So I killed her.

_Oh, Momma._

I want to die. I want to release the knives from my telekinetic grip. I want to force them down into my chest cavity. I want to feel what Momma felt. But something is stopping me.

My whole body is quaking. I want this. I do, I want to die. I want to be in Heaven. Or Hell. I'll definitely go to Hell. But I don't care. I want to die. I deserve to. After what I did to those people, I deserve to die more than anyone else. I deserve to die even for what I did to Chris. To those people who mocked me for years.

_You're a fucking MONSTER!_

The voice screams in my head. It's a mix of my own voice and Momma's. I don't think either of us has ever muttered the F-word.

The knives bob up and down, ready to move at my command.

_Just do it. Just do it._

I want to feel the pain Momma felt in her last moments on earth. I deserve to feel what she felt. I deserve to feel what Tina felt, as her flesh burned away from her bones and she couldn't escape the excruciating heat.

I don't know if I could ever set myself on fire. But I did that to Tina. I zapped her and zapped her until she backed up into the fire and she was dead within a minute.

Her screams were so horrific.

Everyone was screaming.

Oh, God. Their faces. When the electricity surged through the wet floor of the gymnasium and they did their dance. Their eyes bulged from their heads. The veins stood out in their necks. I saw their bodies turn black before my eyes. I didn't care then, but I do now. Those images will stick with me forever. That's why I must end my life. I can't live with that.

Then why aren't I letting the knives go? Is it too much of a gruesome death to bring upon myself? Oh, God knows I deserve it, but could a person really let themselves go that way? I wish someone would do it for me. What if Rita came in? Could I persuade her to kill me herself?

I shift the knives from over me and I let go. The knives clatter to the floor.

Sitting up, I lean against the counter, crossing my legs over each other. I have cried so many tears the past few days that I'm waiting for my body to run out of water.

I don't know how long I'm sitting here when I hear the front door open. Footsteps plod down the hallway towards the kitchen and Rita enters, bags of groceries in her hands.

She spots the knives and then looks at me.

"Carrie?" she drops the groceries, sits her keys on the counter above my head and kneels down in front of me. "Carrie, did you hurt yourself?"

I look at her, "No." I should have.

"Then what happened?" she motions to the knives.

My face twists and I burst into more sobs. I'm sick of hearing myself cry. I'm sure Rita is too. I fall into her arms and she holds me close. Her body heat calms me down.

"What's wrong?" she asks, resting her chin on top of my head.

"I want to die. Please, I can't live with this." I cry.

"No, no, no, honey. You _want_ to live. But what you did is forcing you to feel this way."

"I killed them. I killed my Momma. The only person that ever loved me. I got Tommy killed because he had to ask me to the stupid Prom." I pause. "I killed Chris and her boyfriend, too."

There's also a pause from Rita before she speaks, "I kinda knew that already. That street is closed because they're repairing the road. Did you...?"

I nod under her chin.

"I saw footage on TV. From Prom. I can't believe that I could actually do such a thing." I say.

"You have to try and not think about it so much because it will consume you. You won't be able to get out of that place. Ever. You have to try something. Even if it means that I buy you hair dye and we go a little trip somewhere."

I like the idea of that. I've always wanted my hair to be dyed a darker color. And I've never been out of Chamberlain.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but I went by your house today. There were tons of news crews outside it. I overheard them talking about you, about how your mother's body was removed from the ruins. But the police couldn't find you. They think you may have crawled out." she sighs. "They're looking for you, Carrie."

**Hey, guys. I'm glad that many of you are enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. But I need an idea for a new title. I hate "Seeking a Friend". It doesn't feel right for the story. If any of you have suggestions, let me know. :)**


	8. Gone Wrong

"Carrie."

A voice wakes me up from my sleep.

I sit up and there's Tommy. He's standing at the bottom of my bed, in his white suit, smiling down at me. I climb out of bed and he takes my hand, leading me downstairs and out of the house where a white limousine is waiting for us. But we aren't at Rita's house, we're at my house.

I'm wearing my Prom dress. It is flowing and beautiful as we descend the porch stairs, heading for the limousine. We climb inside and Tommy starts to kiss me. I kiss him back and he wraps me in a tight embrace.

The car moves for what seems like a few seconds before stopping.

I can smell burning.

I can hear screaming.

I look out the tinted windows and Ewen High is up in flames. Prom-goers are running out of the school, only to be thrown to the ground and pulled apart, limb from limb.

I scream within the limousine, watching in horror, and then I see myself on the lawn. I'm covered in blood, grinning at the dead bodies around me.

"Carrie?" Tommy says from behind me and I turn to him.

His right side is splattered with blood and he looks ghostly pale.

"What did you do?!" he screams at me accusingly and I flinch.

Something trickles down my arm and I suddenly find myself soaked in blood, head to toe. I turn to the school, only to come face to face with the other Carrie. She stares in at me through the glass with red eyes. The grin on her face is so horrifying that I scream.

That's when the limousine lifts from the ground and we are thrown into the fiery blaze of the school.

I wake up for real this time, panting and soaked with sweat, not blood. A gasp escapes my mouth when I see what's around me. Everything in the room is floating in mid-air, including the bed. The digital alarm clock from the bedside table drifts in front of my face. It's three-thirty in the morning.

I scream with frustration and anger. I don't even feel it coming. I just do it.

A lamp which is still attached to the wall flickers uncontrollably along with the over-head. The house rumbles for a moment and the bedroom window rattles. I stop screaming and everything crashes to the floor at once.

I roll off the bed, landing on the floor, scrambling to the wall as the bedroom door is thrown open. Rita pauses at the door, looking at the mess before running in and bending down next to me.

"Are you okay?" she puts her arms around me. It's comforting to know that she cares more about me than her own property that is strewn around the room.

I don't cry, I just lay still in her arms.

"Did you have a nightmare?" her soothing voice asks.

I nod in reply.

"Do you wanna go for a bath? You're soaking."

"Yeah." I say.

We stand and she still holds me. It's now that I realize how much I love her. I love her like I did Momma. Like I _still_ love Momma. I think back to Anne Frank's diary that I read in eight grade. At the end of the book, she writes: "_It's really a wonder that I haven't dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart._"

I'm a big believer in the last part of the last sentence. Even though Momma tried to kill me, even though Chris wanted to hurt me, I still believe that they were good people. Everyone has their problems. Momma wanted me to go to the Lord because she believed it was the best for me, and it was. She didn't want me in the first place and she knew that I was a monster. I was her problem. I can remember rumors going around school that Chris was sexually abused by her older brother from the age of five to eleven, until he went to the army. He was her problem. He scarred her for life, which is why she had so much anger and wanted to inflict harm on others.

Yet I find it hard to believe that "_people are really good at heart_" when it's in regard to me. I'm a different species. I'm a life gone wrong. I hold something inhuman inside of me. I am not good.

**So, I decided to title this story after one of my favorite songs by Digital Daggers, but thank you guys SO much for all the cool suggestions! I also decided to make a playlist that kind of shows you what Carrie feels inside. You can check it out on my profile. :)**


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